


A Rarity

by MischaPetrovna



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha Arya Stark, Alpha Jon Snow, Cousin Incest, Divergent Arya Stark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, God forgive me for this filth, I bent too many rules, I just wanted to play with Omega Verse, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jonrya Week, Jonrya Week 2020, Omega Arya Stark, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Please Forgive me, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sansa's a bitch in this one, Total Trash Mode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischaPetrovna/pseuds/MischaPetrovna
Summary: Jonrya Week 2020: Sweet & Spicy SummerPROMPT: Omegaverse“You reflect both the traits of an Alpha and an Omega--in truth, I could’ve told you this without the confirmation of my leeches. I have been around your family since before you were born, and from the moment you opened your eyes--I knew exactly what you were. ”“An abomination?”“A rarity.”While matters of succession continue to plague the Iron Throne, for the Crown Prince remained unmarried, Arya Stark came of age in Winterfell and discovered that she was a rare hybrid among the ancient ranks that defined the roles of their noble society.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 140
Collections: Jonrya Week: Sweet and Spicy Summer





	A Rarity

**Author's Note:**

> FOR YOUR REFERENCE; 
> 
> **Winterfell House**
> 
> Eddard Stark, The Lord of Winterfell (Beta)  
> Catelyn Stark, The Lady of Winterfell (Beta)  
> Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell (Beta)  
> Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell (Omega)  
> Lord Bran Stark of Winterfell (TBD)  
> Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell (TBD) 
> 
> **Targaryen Family**  
>  HG The King of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaegar Targaryen (Alpha)  
> HG Queen Lyanna (Beta)  
> HH The Crown Prince, Jon Targaryen (Alpha)  
> HH Princess Rhaenys (TBD)

**Arya**

“What do you mean?”

“I meant just what I said.” The Red Priestess responded. “You are both--equally.”

“I can’t be both! No one in history has ever been--” 

“No one  _ documented _ in history, has been both, Lady Arya.” Melisandre firmed. “You reflect both the traits of an Alpha and an Omega--in truth, I could’ve told you this without the confirmation of my leeches. I have been around your family since before you were born, and from the moment you opened your eyes--I knew exactly what you were. ” 

Arya grimaced as the priestess removed the last of the leeches from her naked back. 

“An abomination?” She whispered as she gathered her dress

Melisandre smiled deviously. “A rarity.” 

“When I step out for my declaration, will you proclaim that I am an Alpha and an Omega? Will that not raise any questions--”

“The only questions I will answer about your own rank are yours, in the protected walls of this sacred room.” she answered. “On the podium, I will declare you to be whatever you choose for me to declare. In these instances, I am bound to secrecy to avoid further conflict amongst divergent candidates.” Melisandre finished before she buttoned Arya’s dress from behind. 

“I know that I don’t need to tell you this, for you obviously understand the repurcussions, but I advise you to keep your true rank result a secret as well.” 

Outside the room is a gathered party of nobles who came to celebrate the ancient Rank Declaration Ceremony. This year, Arya was counted among candidates for she turned  _ of age  _ during the winter. 

“Do you mean--there have been others before me?” 

Melisandre kept her lips firm. “I am honor-bound to not answer that question in order to protect past candidates, Lady Arya. Now--what would you like to be declared as?” 

“There is nothing I would want more than to be declared an Alpha, priestess. It is my destiny--I want to forge my own path as a lone wolf in this world, lead my own pack of wanderers if I have to, create my own adventures and not be imprisoned by my name--”    
  
“I’m afraid there is nothing I can do about your noble name--”   
  
“But it’s all for naught.” Arya shook as she spoke. “I had hoped to be declared as an Alpha before I came to you--but the--” she sighed. “The heat… I have been--since last year. I knew.”

She bent her head down, resigned. “I have concealed my urges for the most part, I keep to my chambers when it comes. I have been blaming the scent on my sister Sansa, who was declared two years past--”

“I remember her well.” 

“It would only be a matter of time before--another alpha would catch a whiff of me, no matter what you declare out there.” Arya whispered with so much disdain. “I suppose my fate is to resign as no more than a babe vessel for future lords, as my mother wished. Declaring me as an omega would at least grant me the protection that I need before--”

She paused resentfully. “I could be  _ rightfully _ claimed.” 

There was nothing right about being claimed against her will.  
  
Nothing.

The Red Priestess walked daintily towards her tall wooden cabinet, Arya swore she probably floated there from behind her. 

“Your sister is a pure, proud and willing omega.” Melisandre noted before she walked towards her again. “A very willing princess who wants nothing more than to be bred. While you exhibit this exact trait--”

“I do NOT wish to be bred--” Arya snapped. 

“You are also SO much more.” Melisandre continued darkly. “Your fate--is so, so, so much more.” 

“It’s in your blood, my lady. To find your fate--that is why you’re resisting this trait of yours. There is only one mate strong enough to claim you--and you will fight him too!” Melisandre laughed. “You will fight him until you realize that he is your counterpart, and no other mate will be strong enough to claim you. That is your rarity, Lady Arya. Your gift. Your destiny.”

“My destiny cannot be to find this ‘one mate.’ priestess.” Arya answered bluntly. 

“Worry not--for it is he who will seek you.” Melisandre replied. “Or has he been already?”

Arya’s brows met as the priestess procured a small, simple, copper necklace from her long, elegant fingers. 

“What is--” 

“First you must tell me what you want me to declare you as.” Melisandre dared her. “What you  _ truly _ want me to declare--” 

“I am an Alpha.” Arya said strongly. 

“Very good.” The Priestess answered, and she placed the necklace on Arya’s neck carefully.

**Catelyn**

“Worry not, my darling sister. You will not be picked.” Sansa noted confidently. 

“I still do not wish to go.” Arya snapped. “I can stay here in Winterfell--Robb might need…” 

“Your brother has his wife, your nephew, and your younger brothers to keep him company, little wolf.” Ned muttered. “Plenty of Starks will remain in Winterfell in your stead. The King has summoned all the great houses with eligible daughters to be presented to your cousin, for he has somewhat stalled in selecting his own bride.” 

“Isn’t presenting Sansa enough, father?” Arya reasoned. “She’s been waiting for this moment ever since the family came to visit us as children…”

“Aye, for I am meant to be Queen.” Sansa answered. “Just like Aunt Lyanna. I cannot wait to bear the prince sons who will someday rule the realm…”

Arya’s face annoyingly twisted in disgust. “His name is Jon, Sansa. Don’t you dream of other things besides being some broodmare?”

“Prince Jon, Arya.” Sansa firmed. “He may be our cousin, but he is still the future King of the Realm--he’s not a child anymore either--so you’d do well and remember your courtesies.” 

“Ned,” Catelyn finally spoke before she directed the last servant who was loading the wheelhouse. She intended to speak for only her husband’s ear. “Perhaps we could grant Arya’s wishes this time--she was afterall declared an Alpha, and as your nephew holds this same rank, it is unlikely--” 

“Cat--don’t.” Ned replied softly so the girls won’t hear. “The incident happened over ten years ago--Arya doesn’t even have any memory of it anymore…” 

Catelyn grimaced as snippets of the memory that has haunted her for many years flashed across her eyes.

Prince Jon was thirteen years of age, Sansa was ten, and Arya eight. The connection between Jon and Arya was almost instant, to the visible delight of her good sister, The Queen. Sansa was highly frustrated during their visit--as she had wanted to spend some time alone with her cousin, but the boy did nothing but spend the entirety of his visit trying to please her youngest daughter. They climbed trees together, rode together, watched knights spar together, ate together and only parted for bed. Jon even convinced her husband to allow Arya to wield a bow so she would smile as he taught her.

The connection was wholesome enough--but it still made her uneasy, for they were so attached to each other. One afternoon, Arya laughed wholeheartedly at some joke that their ward Theon shared with her. Only Catelyn noticed the prince’s scathing glance upon the other boy as he tightened his hold on Arya’s shoulder. That same afternoon, Ned informed her that The King had requested for only family members to remain in the castle during their visit. Theon had to dine outside with their servants and men. Jon’s blatant jealousy really made her uncomfortable. 

On the family’s last evening in Winterfell, Catelyn’s suspicions were confirmed when she discovered them curled together under the boy’s Targaryen cloak in the Godswood, fast asleep--which would’ve been a sweet sight to see--had his teeth not been on Arya’s neck.

“He tried to mark her, Ned.” Catelyn reasoned. “If we hadn’t--”

“There were no marks, Cat--as we checked endlessly. They were children who didn’t know any better at the time.” 

“But your nephew has since been declared an Alpha in his own right--”

“And so has our daughter.” Ned answered. “He cannot claim her--”

“He’s still a Targaryen.” Catelyn firmed. “There is no law which dictates that the crown cannot take another alpha as a bride…”

“What is it that you fear?” Ned snapped then. “The boy, despite the incident, has been nothing but kind to Arya when they were last acquainted. I haven’t intervened when you chose to not give Arya the gifts and ravens that he sent after they left Winterfell to quell this fear of yours without question. Yet each time I ask--you have not given me a direct answer.”

Catelyn grimaced, a bit disturbed by Ned’s tone. “If your nephew somehow picks our youngest daughter at this ball--I’m afraid that--”

Ned followed Catelyn’s eyes as she watched their daughters banter freely. Sansa brushed her hair to perfection as if the journey wouldn’t muss it, while Arya tightened the cuffs of her riding pants to avoid the wheelhouse.

“It was never Sansa’s choice, Cat.” Ned answered. “If Jon does indeed pick Arya--” 

“It will drive our pack apart.” Catelyn continued. “Sansa has prepared for this moment all of her life, she will not be forgiving--”

“Then she will learn.” Ned kissed her brow and held her hand. “There is nothing to be done except pray to the Old Gods that they remain a pack no matter what happens.” 

“We can still choose to not take Arya--it might…” 

Ned’s lips formed a firm line. “I’m afraid that is not an option, love.” 

Catelyn waited for him to continue. 

“My sister sent me a personal raven along with the invitation--personally requesting Arya’s presence on the King and Prince’s behalf.” 

**Jon**

Jon dreaded the idea of this masquerade. 

He absolutely detested it. 

Since he came of age, and shortly after his declaration, countless ladies from both great and vassal houses have paid King’s Landing visit in order to present themselves as potential brides. 

All fertile and ready omegas--as his own father preferred for him. 

Jon’s mother was a beta, and she bore him two children--himself, and his younger sister Rhaenys. It didn’t seem enough for the realm, and the matter of succession grew louder and louder as every lady left the castle unmarked. 

Not always untouched however. 

‘An omega will bear you many children, son.’ his father noted. ‘But the matter of your bride shall remain your choice.’ 

Until this summer. 

Apparently, his father has had enough of his disinterest in selecting a bride. The King arranged this ball and declared that if Jon does not pick his own bride by the end of the moon, he will make his own decision on the matter for him.

“He should have just issued his own proposal.” Jon spat bitterly. “I have met most of them, mother--and none of them--”

None of them carried  _ that  _ scent.

“It’s unkind, really. To have them all in the city for a week and be slighted for there will only be one by the end of the evening.” Jon said instead. “I will choose none of them.”

“Hush, my love. You do not know what the night will bring.” The Queen comforted him as they watched countless servants scurry about the great hall with flowers, tablecloths, and various other decorations. “Your father only wanted you to have the same choice that he had--selecting a mate for life is not an easy decision.” 

Jon remained unconvinced, his face firm. “I feel that what I’ve been seeking is lost to me.” 

Lyanna smirked. “You never know, it might be on the way to you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Worry not about the other ladies--this evening will introduce them to other Lords even if you are who they intend.” 

**Arya II**

Arya felt his cold steely eyes on her as soon as her family stepped inside the great hall of King’s Landing. The weight of his stare crept up on her neck despite not once seeking his gaze. 

She instinctively palmed the necklace inside her collar, determined to keep the priestess’ guidance with her. 

_ “This will only mask your scent--it will hide you. But it will do nothing about your heat, slick and desires. You will keep it on until you submit to your mate--once you do, your scent will only be his.” _

_ “I will not submit to anyone.” She retorted proudly. “I am an alpha.”  _

_ “Indeed you are. But there is one mate strong enough to claim you, Arya Stark.” Melisandre answered knowingly. “And once he overpowers you, you will only be too willing to take this off without having to be asked. You’ll be his omega--only his.”  _

‘Who are you?’ she thought to herself as she fidgeted in her seat. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? I can’t even see you.’ 

“Will you stop moving about? You’re making him look at you. It’s embarrassing.” Sansa complained as she smoothed her dress. “We will walk down the aisle and be presented together, I was told. Try not to be so--you.” 

Arya palmed her neck before she seeked his eyes across the room. 

She hardly remembered him, but he felt so familiar. 

It was a powerful, overwhelming feeling. It was as if they were engaged in a silent war, yet no words have been exchanged between them yet. 

Jon was being greeted by the High Lords, including her own father at the high table with his family, yet his gaze never left her own. 

“Will you stop staring?” Sansa hissed beside her.

“Will YOU?” Arya snapped finally, unknowingly baring her teeth.

“Girls.” Catelyn whispered. “Eat. You will be presented shortly after the dancing has begun.” 

Arya fixed her gaze on her plate as she played with the vegetables on top of the fine meat that they were served, but she knew that his eyes were still on her. It was as if she was being stripped down by his very gaze--and slowly, she felt it. 

The familiar wetness between her legs. 

She was grateful to have asked for a long dress as her knees moved on their own accord and rubbed against each other to soothe her oncoming ache. 

“Mother--could I be excused? I need to--” 

“Are you alright?” Catelyn asked. 

Arya nodded. “I need to visit the washroom--I will return shortly.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Catelyn asked.

“Send a servant with her, mother--the dancing is supposed to start soon.” Sansa muttered.

“I’ll be fine-it’s just the wine might’ve not sat right with me.” she reasoned and left before they could say another word. 

As soon as she left the great hall, the burden of his gaze was lifted off her shoulders.

She still ached, however. 

‘Gods, why now?’ she cursed herself. 

Their assigned quarters in the Red Keep seemed too far from the hall, and she didn’t want to take too long to return. Even if it were Sansa’s wish for her to vanish out of sight, her father would indeed worry a great deal about her. 

All the guards seemed distracted with the festivities when she spotted the abandoned tower just close to the back gate. 

‘Underfoot, don’t fail me now.’ she thought to herself as she raced towards the wooden door. 

The tower seemed to be well-maintained as some sort of storage space; upon her entrance she was greeted by stacked wooden tables, an empty desk, dull shivs, old chairs, a pile of old books and rolled up rugs. 

Breathing heavily, she moved further inside, and the moonlight from a small window seemed generous to her sight as she spotted a mattress on the floor. 

She hurriedly laid herself down, no longer thinking of much else but to relieve the throbbing ache between her legs. Arya pulled her skirts up and threw her small clothes on the floor before she allowed her fingers to brush upon the sensitive nub on her slit that she discovered just the year before--when her heat had started to come in waves. 

‘There’s no time for teasing…’ she told herself as her fingers found her maiden hole. 

Her heaving breaths occupied the moonlit chamber and clouded the noise from the festivities right outside the door. 

But then she heard it--the wooden door shutting from behind her. 

**Jon and Arya**

From the moment she entered the hall, he knew. 

This is who he’s been seeking. 

Arya Stark arrived with her family and their small retinue, dozens of others amongst them.

But he only saw her. 

Memories of their first moments together haunted his dreams for years until he decided that he imagined their own connection for countless ravens that he sent thereafter were deemed unanswered. 

‘She won’t know how to answer, Jon.’ his mother reasoned then. ‘She’s only a child, my love.’

Not anymore. 

Arya’s hair laid softly under her shoulders, covering the soft neck that he instinctively sought to see. He knew that she was aware of his presence, yet turned her head anywhere else than where he sat. 

It irritated him greatly. 

As soon as his uncle sat them down, he approached the high table to greet his mother and father. 

“Prince Jon.” Lord Stark greeted him. “You’ve grown quite a bit since we last saw you.” 

He kept his gaze on Arya but he nodded. “Lord Stark, will your daughter come upon to greet us as well?” 

“Jon, they were told to dine before they are formally presented.” answered his mother. “Your cousins will greet you as soon as the plates are taken away and the dancing begins.”

“Aye, Your Highness. My  _ daughters  _ are quite eager to get reacquainted with you.” Lord Stark continued. “Sansa worked particularly hard on some embroidered handkerchiefs for you and Princess Rhaenys…” 

“And Arya?” he asked determinedly. “How is she this evening?” 

Jon felt his mother smile widely at her uncle because of this question. The King was able to manage a small chuckle as well. 

Further words were exchanged, but he heard none of it.

He only had eyes on Arya Stark. 

**============**

Arya was able to collect herself easily upon hearing the door shut. She sat up immediately and smoothed her hair as familiar footsteps approached. 

“Cousin? Are you well?” 

Just his mere voice sent shivers down her spine. Unlike his parents, Jon decided to don the Targaryen light leather armor this evening, and the moonlight made him an unforgiving sight to Arya. His dark hair was cut much shorter than she remembered, beard neatly trimmed, his pale skin seemingly glowed in the dark, and the purple hues of his eyes were accentuated by the pale moonlight. 

“Ye--yes, Prince Jon.” she managed and mustered up all her strength to stand up. “I needed to leave the space for some air--”  


“In here?” he asked suspiciously.

“I suppose for just a bit of privacy, Your Highness.” she answered, slowly getting daunted by his presence. 

Jon approached her slowly, noting the small beads of perspiration on her cheeks and forehead, and thoroughly enjoying her uneven breathing as he neared. 

“I recall how much you struggled to address me formally, Arya.” 

She managed to turn her chin indignantly, despite her slick becoming relentless. “I’m afraid I don’t remember much from our first meeting, Your Highness.” 

Jon smiled, but his eyes remained locked in hers. “Maybe I should make my second impression on you much more memorable then.” 

Though Arya’s eyes remained fiery, she found herself stepping back to hold on to a table. 

“There is no need. My sister will be presented to you this evening, I was told. You can impress upon her then--” 

“And yourself?” Jon challenged, his face almost just a hair away from hers that she could feel his breath on her very lips. It did not help the sensation between her legs. 

“I am an Alpha, Prince Jon.” She answered bravely, though her knees began to shake under her dress. “You seek an omega bride to bear your kin.” 

Arya’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the table behind her, for Jon decided to sniff carefully under her ear. “An alpha in heat?” 

“Rut.” she spat. “Don’t you know? Aren’t you an Alpha?”

It was then when Jon bared his teeth to her in a grimacing smile. “I’ve been an Alpha long enough to recognize omega heat, little one.” 

Little one. 

He used to call her little one. 

He would muss her hair, and place her on his back and they would cause mischief all over Winterfell. How could she have forgotten?

“This--is not your scent.” he noted gravely. “Something is stopping me from having you. What is it?” he demanded. 

Arya managed a smirk, determined to stand strong despite her vulnerability. 

“You can’t have me.” 

Jon hissed as he backed her further into the table. “Your slick betrays you.” 

Alarmed, Arya’s head bent down to check her dress--though her moisture has reached her legs, her dress was long enough to conceal it. 

Before she realized that he had tested her, Jon had already lifted her chin back up and claimed her mouth ferociously. 

Arya used both arms to push him away but Jon was relentless. He backed her up to sit at the table that she gripped with his hips and stood between her parted legs, not taking leave of her mouth. He swallowed all of her protests angrily. Arya’s knees bent on their own resolve and locked Jon’s body to hers, despite her hands pushing him away. 

“Let me have you.” he muttered huskily, tongue still inside her mouth. “Let me have you.” 

“No.” she answered, though her legs drew him closer to her heat. 

With a feral growl, Jon lifted her by her bottom and dragged her down to the mattress on the floor, still kissing her angrily and steadying his chest on her resisting hands. 

“I can give you what you need.” he pressed on her ear as a hand traveled the length of her leg. “Let me have you.” 

“No.” she spat, but her legs remained wide under her dress. “No.” 

“No?” he asked hungrily as his fingers reached her velvety core. “You’re so wet--and you need to come. I will give you what you need--just let me have you.” 

As soon as his fingers entered her heat, Arya was immediately overpowered by a different sensation--his scent. It was strong and unique, like the melting steel inside a forge, her father’s new scrolls, the Godswood in the winter, and him. 

Hers. 

“No.” she moaned in his mouth. “No.”

Jon played with her nub as his digits invaded her and she wriggled under him. It took every ounce of his discipline to keep himself from taking her right then--but instincts taught him to have her fully submit to him first. 

When he felt that she was close to her peak, for she started biting his lips--he stalled his hand. 

“Wh--” 

“Let me have you.” he whispered. 

“No.” she answered, though delirious with need. “Please…”

“If you want me to finish you--”

“Please...” she moaned, and tried to coax him by bringing his head down towards her mouth. 

Jon’s jaw clenched in frustration but he bared his neck to her mouth instead. 

“Claim me.” he commanded instead. "Claim me!"

As soon as the smooth of his skin touched her lips, Arya bared her teeth and marked him for true with a possessive growl as she humped herself on his hand. 

She was relieved--but it was not enough. 

She needed--she needed more.

Him. 

Hers. 

She didn’t feel the pain when Jon tried to suckle on her own neck as she came down--but they were latched on each other for sometime before he let her go. 

“Yours.” he declared before placing a kiss on her temple.

“Mine.” he furthered as he licked her own slick off his fingers hungrily. He enjoyed the texture of her heat--but he knew it lacked her taste, her smell. 

He yearned. 

He inserted his wet fingers inside her mouth to give her a taste. 

Arya’s eyes darkened again, and she pulled him towards her. 

“Something has stopped me from marking you--and smelling you.” Jon noted hungrily, his own trousers tightened in frustration as he hovered over her. “We will return to the ball and I will declare you my bride--”

“No--”

“You’ve marked me.” he said darkly. “You are mine.” 

“I only meant--” she started before she uncovered her neck to remove the copper necklace. “I need you--please… I need to feel you.” 

As soon as she was free off the artifact, Jon caught it. 

The scent he’s been seeking.

Her scent. 

Her. 

Winter roses. Berry Tarts. Snow covered grass. 

Home. 

With a growl, he greedily removed his breeches and with it his trousers, hovered on top of her, and raised her hands up to the top of her head. 

Omega. 

His. 

He softly kissed her mouth and this time, she opened for him willingly, no longer fighting, no longer resisting--she was purely submissive, at his behest. 

He pried her lips open and spent some of his spit down her throat, before moving his head down between her legs. 

Jon had to taste her--her real taste. 

Arya watched her legs shoot in opposite directions as Jon devoured her passionately, his tongue flicked and sucked on her sensitive nub as his fingers continued to invade her, driving her delirious with need she held onto the hem of her dress on her stomach as if she’d fall if she didn’t hold on. Her heat has never been this satisfied on her own.

And yet she needed more. 

“Please--please--I need…” 

Jon halted his ministrations and bent her over. “On your knees. Like wolves.” 

Arya obeyed. 

Jon stroked his cock for relief as the knot began to form in his base. 

“I will not stop.” he snarled. “I can’t--do you understand?” 

“Please...” she moaned, moving closer to his cock. “Please, Jon…” 

Upon hearing his name, Jon growled possessively and hovered over her back, holding her stomach down as he entered her. 

A long moan escaped Arya’s throat when he filled her, her satisfaction overpowered whatever pain she was supposed to feel as he breached her maidenhead, and bit into her neck fully. 

“Say my name.” he commanded in her ear as his knot grew bigger. “Say it.”

“Jon…” Arya whimpered. “More--please…”

The sound of their sexes slopping together grew his knot further as he fucked into her, it was a numbing, delirious pleasure he was sure he could die from--as he has been denied this release for a long time.

Arya’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as Jon continued to fuck her, his mouth on her jugular, hand on her breasts and he pumped into her faster and faster. 

Arya came with a cry--and Jon shortly after as they both fell back into the mattress. Jon’s knot reduced in size as his cum pumped into her--and they both felt much, much better. He held her silently, nose at the back of her neck, cock half-hard, still releasing his juices deep into her womb as his knot slowly deflated. 

“Alpha?” he teased.

“Alpha.” she answered firmly. 

“Mine.” he declared before he turned her chin towards his for a soft kiss. “Alpha, Omega, Wolf--Arya… Mine. I waited for you, for so long--” 

Arya nodded as she accepted his kiss. “You’ll take a declared alpha for a bride?” 

“No one else.” he firmed. “Did you know that in a wolf-pack, An alpha male and an alpha female lead the pack? And what of us, cousin? We are wolves. You are my mate.” 

_ “There is one mate strong enough to claim you, Arya Stark.”  
_ _ “You’ll be his omega--only his.”  _

“They might be looking for us--we can’t be found like this…” Arya noted, but did nothing to relieve the fact that she was still impaled on his cock--which was starting to harden again. 

“I posed one of my guards at the door--we will not be disturbed.” Jon whispered before drawing his hand towards her slick again. “I can’t stop.” 

**Epilogue**

Jon and Arya did not step out of the tower until early dawn, much to the displeasure of all their parents--with the exception of The Queen, who was quite delighted about it all. 

Sansa was horrified, of course--called her all sorts of names when their engagement was announced for breakfast that same morning. She flew into a very public rage inside their own quarters at the keep, not to be contained by her parents--until one scathing missive arrived from Robb in Winterfell--shutting her down completely. Sansa attended the royal wedding in the most behaved manner, for Robb promised her that if she caused more trouble--an arrangement to bethrote her to the Frey House would be inevitable. 

Jon and Arya were wed just a little over a week after the ball, and though disappointed ladies were amongst the invited crowd, they too couldn’t help but fall in love with the bride. 

Children came shortly after--and prejudices against alpha women were put to rest because the Crown Princess was able to bear the realm six sons and a daughter. 

Arya was carrying her fourth child when Queen Lyanna revealed her own necklace to her, confessing that she was both an Alpha and Beta, but chose to be declared the latter so she could secure her husband’s hand--for he was born an Alpha Dragon. 

When Jon and Arya ascended to the throne, their family was much loved and adored by the realm, for their hearts were good-natured, humble and relatable despite being both Alphas. They garnered respect and love wherever they went, and their own children were quite beloved as well. The King was noted to exhibit a bit of territorial tendency regarding his Queen--but he was always so instantly calmed when she soothed him.

_ In The Godswood of Winterfell _

_ “I wish you didn’t have to go back to King’s Landing...” she said, as she cuddled up more to him.  
_ _ “I wish you could go with me.” Jon answered silently and ran his hand on her wild hair.  
_ _ “I can’t! Robb will miss me.” Arya replied. “I love him too.”  
_ _ Jon’s jaw clenched. “I will miss you.”  
_ _ Arya bit her lip. “I will miss you too. A lot, a lot, a lot.”   
_ _ “Do you love me?” he asked shyly.   
_ _ “Of course I do!” Arya answered proudly. “I love you the most of them all!”   
_ _ “I love you, Arya.” he declared before he placed a kiss on her cheek. “I love you.”  
_ _ The young girl yawned.   
_ _ “Sleepy? We can walk back…” Jon offered.  _ _  
_ _ “No! Let’s stay here. Mother will tell me to go to my chambers and I want to be with you as much as I can before you have to leave me. “  
_ _ “I will never leave you.” he answered. “Never.”   
_ _ “But you’re leaving with Aunt Lya tomorrow?” Arya asked, confused.   
_ _ “Come on, let’s sleep.” she said instead when he remained silent for sometime.  
_ _ The last thing that Jon remembered before he fell into slumber with her was her scent, and the softness of the skin on her neck under his lips.  _

  
  


**END.**

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Happy Jonrya Week, Everyone!  
> **  
>  Welcome to my first (possibly only, if you scold me for bending the world too much) omegaverse fic, featuring our favorite ship! 
> 
> This has a very weak plot--but I wanted to participate this week, so I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> **COMMENTS** fuel the writers. So please: Give me fuel, give me fire, give me that which I desire!  
>  _Please don't block me--sorry._
> 
> Add me on tumblr: **mischapetrovna**


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